


Watch My Body Weaken

by tamethewoods



Series: Half-Human Sam Winchester's Plight to Hell (and other things probably) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Sam Winchester, Implied Slash, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injured Sam Winchester, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21991927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamethewoods/pseuds/tamethewoods
Summary: In which Sam becomes the King of Hell at a great personal cost and Dean consults with Crowley.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Half-Human Sam Winchester's Plight to Hell (and other things probably) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583089
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Watch My Body Weaken

**Author's Note:**

> As I was trying to post this, the whole "Sam Winchester is only half-human" thing kinda took off; that's really not the focus of this story. As for what the other half of him is, well, my brain has no idea. Demon maybe?
> 
> Also, this is my first time posting a story of any kind online, so I hope I did this right haha. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy.

Dean met up with the former king of hell in a cemetery, which he thought was ironic. It wasn’t really a cemetery though; cobblestone walkways lay trodden with tree debris and weeds. Few scattered headstones long crumbed under the weight of time. The bare trees let the breeze whistle through them.

Mistake, they whispered.

Dean grit his teeth as he walked towards the gravestone labeled Noreen Greengulch, the deadened, frost-covered grass crunching under his boots. The headstone looked a little more withered since the last time he’d been here.

Last time was about Sam too.

“I see you’re back,” a voice rang out. He steeled his eyes as he turned his head.

“I can’t leave him down there alone. You know that.” Silence ensued, much too long. “Crowley-“

“He has no choice, Dean. You know that.” Spit flew.

“I know, I just wanna see hi-“

“Dean.”

Dean sighed, swiping at his face with his hand and shuffling at the dead ground with a foot.

“How is he?” His breath was foggy. He didn’t know if Crowley would be able to answer, having long been exiled from hell.

Crowley was silent for a moment, statue-like as always. “It’s like driving to Larry’s Tavern on a snowy December night; the roads are slick with ice, and you’ll make it there eventually, but your tires are bald and withered by the journey.”

“What are you saying?” Dean ground out, whipping around to face Crowley, not sure if he was prepared to hear the answer.

“It’s gonna cost him,” Crowley emitted the words lowly and the wind quickly stole them away. “If he’s not willing to be there, the effects, the toll it’ll take on him from his unwillingness will be too much for a human to handle.”

“But he’s not all human.” Dean countered, having come to terms with it long ago.

“No, but he’s got the heart of one.”

xxx

Sam could feel the heat in his lungs, making every inhale seem like he was suffocating. Lucifer said hell was cold, but Sam felt it only in his bones. It was a deep chill, the kind that settled in and made a home in his organs, bones, tissues, cells.

But the heat was still an issue.

How anyone could simultaneously feel both hot and cold was beyond Sam, but hell seemed like a fitting place to experience the feeling of your skin burning into nothingness.

He stood in his ornate bedroom in the crumbly, hell-ridden mansion on the single hill in all of hell, looking at his gaunt features in the bone-lined mirror.

Bags sat below each sunken-in eye socket, his cheeks were too hollowed out to make him recognizable. His hair was messy, untamable, much like the wild countenance of the damned souls who occupied hell’s innards, although hair didn’t seem to grow in hell, which would explain the lack of beard. Clavicles prominent, pants baggy, each rib was visible through taught, tight skin.

Nobody told him the toll of hell would manifest itself in his skin.

The worst though, were the things that sat atop his skin.

A crown, crooked and imposing, made of bone and whatever else held shape in hell was on his head, untouched.

The jewelry, among other things thrown in praise at him as he made his ascent to claim the throne, burned his skin when they had made contact. Small, pearl-shaped colorations were lightly pebbled on his arms and shoulders. He could get rid of them, make them disappear with a flick of his hand, but he didn’t.

They reminded him of aged cigarette burns.

He was the king, after all. He had a reputation to uphold. People (demons) to intimidate, scare to their very being. Sam had learned decades ago, fear was a good weapon.

He missed Dean.

In random occurrences, Dean would flitter through his mind, unguarded and free. He couldn’t control it, his mind was weak, his body a liability.

He was, still, human after all.

Partly.


End file.
